A Saucer of Loneliness

by Theodore Sturgeon

  She carried it casually, but casualness could not hide it, for it was not wrapped, and it swung and blazed in the sun. She wore a flowing white robe, trimmed a little short so that she might negotiate the rough bogland; she had on a golden girdle and little gold sandals, and a gold chain bound her head and hair like a coronet.

  Barbara walked quietly a little behind Rita, closed in with her own thoughts. Not once did she look at Del, who strode somberly by himself.

  Rita halted a moment and let Barbara catch up, then walked beside her. “Tell me,” she said quietly, “why did you come? It needn’t have been you.”

  “I’m his friend,” Barbara said. She quickly touched the bridle with her finger. “The unicorn.”

  “Oh,” said Rita. “The unicorn.” She looked archly at the other girl. “You wouldn’t betray all your friends, would you?”

  Barbara looked at her thoughtfully, without anger. “If—when you catch the unicorn,” she said carefully, “what will you do with him?”

  “What an amazing question! I shall keep him, of course!”

  “I thought I might persuade you to let him go.”

  Rita smiled, and hung the bridle on her other arm. “You could never do that.”

  “I know,” said Barbara. “But I thought I might, so that’s why I came.” And before Rita could answer, she dropped behind again.

  The last ridge, the one which overlooked the unicorn pool, saw a series of gasps as the ranks of villagers topped it, one after the other, and saw what lay below; and it was indeed beautiful.

  Surprisingly, it was Del who took it upon himself to call out, in his great voice, “Everyone wait here!” And everyone did; the top of the ridge filled slowly, from one side to the other, with craning, murmuring people. And then Del bounded after Rita and Barbara.

  Barbara said, “I’ll stop here.”

  “Wait,” said Rita, imperiously. Of Del she demanded “What are you coming for?”

  “To see fair play,” he growled. “The little I know of witchcraft makes me like none of it.”

  “Very well,” she said calmly. Then she smiled her very own smile. “Since you insist, I’d rather enjoy Barbara’s company too.”

  Barbara hesitated. “Come, he won’t hurt you, girl,” said Rita. “He doesn’t know you exist.”

  “Oh,” said Barbara, wonderingly.

  Del said gruffly, “I do so. She has the vegetable stall.”

  Rita smiled at Barbara, the secrets bright in her eyes. Barbara said nothing, but came with them.

  “You should go back, you know,” Rita said silkily to Del, when she could. “Haven’t you been humiliated enough yet?”

  He did not answer.

  She said, “Stubborn animal! Do you think I’d have come this far if I weren’t sure?”

  “Yes,” said Del, “I think perhaps you would.”

  They reached the blue moss. Rita shuffled it about with her feet and then sank gracefully down to it. Barbara stood alone in the shadows of the willow grove. Del thumped gently at an aspen with his fist. Rita, smiling, arranged the bridle to cast, and laid it across her lap.

  The rabbits stayed hid. There was an uneasiness about the grove. Barbara sank to her knees, and put out her hand. A chipmunk ran to nestle in it.

  This time there was a difference. This time it was not the slow silencing of living things that warned of his approach, but a sudden babble from the people on the ridge.

  Rita gathered her legs under her like a sprinter, and held the bridle poised. Her eyes were round and bright, and the tip of her tongue showed between her white teeth. Barbara was a statue. Del put his back against his tree, and became as still as Barbara.

  Then from the ridge came a single, simultaneous intake of breath, and silence. One knew without looking that some stared speechless, that some buried their faces or threw an arm over their eyes.

  He came.

  He came slowly this time, his golden hooves choosing his paces like so many embroidery needles. He held his splendid head high. He regarded the three on the bank gravely, and then turned to look at the ridge for a moment. At last he turned, and came round the pond by the willow grove. Just on the blue moss, he stopped to look down into the pond. It seemed that he drew one deep clear breath. He bent his head then, and drank, and lifted his head to shake away the shining drops.

  He turned toward the three spellbound humans and looked at them each in turn. And it was not Rita he went to, at last, nor Barbara. He came to Del, and he drank of Del’s eyes with his own just as he had partaken of the pool deeply and at leisure. The beauty and wisdom were there, and the compassion, and what looked like a bright white point of anger. Del knew that the creature had read everything then, and that he knew all three of them in ways unknown to human beings.

  There was a majestic sadness in the way he turned then, and dropped his shining head, and stepped daintily to Rita. She sighed, and rose up a little, lifting the bridle. The unicorn lowered his horn to receive it—

  —and tossed his head, tore the bridle out of her grasp, sent the golden thing high in the air. It turned there in the sun, and fell into the pond.

  And the instant it touched the water, the pond was a bog and the birds rose mourning from the trees. The unicorn looked up at them, and shook himself. Then he trotted to Barbara and knelt, and put his smooth, stainless head in her lap.

  Barbara’s hands stayed on the ground by her sides. Her gaze roved over the warm white beauty, up to the tip of the golden horn and back.

  The scream was frightening. Rita’s hands were up like claws, and she had bitten her tongue; there was blood on her mouth. She screamed again. She threw herself off the now withered moss toward the unicorn and Barbara. “She can’t be!” Rita shrieked. She collided with Del’s broad right hand. “It’s wrong, I tell you, she, you, I.…”

  “I’m satisfied,” said Del, low in his throat. “Keep away, squire’s daughter.”

  She recoiled from him, made as if to try to circle him. He stepped forward. She ground her chin into one shoulder, then the other, in a gesture of sheer frustration, turned suddenly and ran toward the ridge. “It’s mine, it’s mine,” she screamed. “I tell you it can’t be hers, don’t you understand? I never once, I never did, but she, but she—”

  She slowed and stopped, then, and fell silent at the sound that rose from the ridge. It began like the first patter of rain on oak leaves, and it gathered voice until it was a rumble and then a roar. She stood looking up, her face working, the sound washing over her. She shrank from it.

  It was laughter.

  She turned once, a pleading just beginning to form on her face. Del regarded her stonily. She faced the ridge then, and squared her shoulders, and walked up the hill, to go into the laughter, to go through it, to have it follow her all the way home and all the days of her life.

  Del turned to Barbara just as she bent over the beautiful head. She said, “Silken-swift … go free.”

  The unicorn raised its head and looked up at Del. Del’s mouth opened. He took a clumsy step forward, stopped again. “You!”

  Barbara’s face was wet. “You weren’t to know,” she choked. “You weren’t ever to know … I was so glad you were blind, because I thought you’d never know.”

  He fell on his knees beside her. And when he did, the unicorn touched her face with his satin nose, and all the girl’s pent-up beauty flooded outward. The unicorn rose from his kneeling, and whickered softly. Del looked at her, and only the unicorn was more beautiful. He put out his hand to the shining neck, and for a moment felt the incredible silk of the mane flowing across his fingers. The unicorn reared then, and wheeled, and in a great leap was across the bog, and in two more was on the crest of the farther ridge. He paused there briefly, with the sun on him, and then was gone.

  Barbara said, “For us, he lost his pool, his beautiful pool.”

  And Del said, “He will get another. He must.” With difficulty he added, “He couldn’t be … punished … for being so gloriou
sly Fair.”

  The Clinic

  THE POLICEMEN AND THE DOCTORS MEN and most of the people outside, they all helped me, they were very nice but nobody helped me as many-much as Elena.

  De la Torre liked me very nice I think, but number one because what I am is his work. The Sergeant liked me very nice too but inside I think he say not real, not real. He say in all his years he know two for-real amnesiacs but only in police book. Unless me. Some day, he say, some day he find out I not-real amnesiac trying to fool him. De la Torre say I real. Classic case, he say. He say plenty men forget talk forget name forget way to do life-work but por Dios not forget buttons forget eating forget every damn thing like me. The Sergeant say yes Doc you would rather find a medical monstrosity than turn up a faker. De la Torre say yes you would rather find out he is a fugitive than a phenomenon, well this just shows you what expert opinion is worth when you get two experts together. He say, one of us has to be wrong.

  Is half right. Is both wrong.

  If I am a fugitive I must be very intelligent. If I am an amnesiac I could be even intelligenter as a fugitive. Anyway I be intelligent better than any man in the world, as how could conversation as articulo-fluent like this after only six days five hours fifty-three minutes?

  Is both wrong. I be Nemo.

  But now comes Elena again, de la Torre is look happy-face, the Sergeant is look watch-face, Elena smile so warm, and we go.

  “How are you tonight, Nemo?”

  “I am very intelligent.”

  She laughs. “You can say that again,” and then she puts hand on my mouth and more laughs. “No, don’t say it again. Another figure of speech.… Remember any yet?”

  “What state what school what name, all that? No.”

  “All right.” Now de la Torre, he ask me like that and when I no him, he try and try ask some other how. The Sergeant, he ask me like that and when I no him, he try and try ask me the same asking, again again. Elena ask and when I no her, she talk something else. Now she say, “What would you like to do tonight?”

  I say, “Go with you whatever.”

  She say, “Well we’ll start with a short beer,” so we do.

  The short beer is in a room with long twisty blue lights and red lights and a noise-machine looks like two sunsets with bubbles and sounds unhappy out loud. The short beer is wet, high as a hand, color like Elena’s eyes, shampoo on top, little bubbles inside. Elena drink then I drink all. Little bubbles make big bubble inside me, big bubble come right back up so roaring that all people look to see, so it is bigger as the noise-machine. I look at people and Elena laugh again. She say, “I guess I shouldn’t laugh. Most people don’t do that in public, Nemo.”

  “Was largely recalcitrant bubble and decontrolled,” I say. “So what do—keep for intestinals?”

  She laugh again and say, “Well, no. Just try to keep it quiet.” And now come a man from high long table where so many stand, he has hair on face, low lip flaccid, teeth brown black and gold, he smell as waste-food, first taste of mouth-thermometer, and skin moisture after drying in heavy weavings. He say, “You sound like a pig, Mac, where you think you are, home?”

  I look at Elena and I look at he, I say, “Good evening.” That what de la Torre say in first speak to peoples after begin night. Elena quick touch arm of mine, say, “Don’t pay any attention to him, Nemo.” Man bend over, put hand forward and touches it to ear of me with velocity, to make a large percussive effect. Same time bald man run around end of long high table exhibiting wooden device, speaking the prognosis: “Don’t start nothing in my place, Purky, or I’ll feed you this bung-starter.”

  I rub at ear and look at man who smells. He say, “Yeah, but you hear this little pig here? Where he think he’s at?”

  The man with bung-starter device say, “Tell you where you’ll be at, you don’t behave yourself, you’ll be out on the pavement with a knot on your head,” and he walk at Purky until Purky move and walk again until Purky is back to old place. I rub on ear and look at Elena and Elena has lip-paint of much bigger red now. No it is not bigger red, it is face skin of more white. Elena say, “Are you all right, Nemo? Did he hurt you?”

  I say, “He is destroyed no part. He is create algesia of the middle ear. This is usual?”

  “The dirty rat. No, Nemo, it isn’t usual. I’m sorry, I’m so sorry. I shouldn’t’ve brought you in here.… Some day someone’ll do the world a favor and knock his block off.”

  “I have behavior?”

  She say, “You what? Oh—did you act right.” She gives me diagnostic regard from sides of eyes. “I guess so, Nemo. But … you can’t let people push you around like that. Come on, let’s get out of here.”

  “But then this is no more short beer, yes?”

  “You like it? You want another?”

  I touch my larynx. “It localizes a euphoria.”

  “Does it now. Well, whatever that means, I guess you can have another.” She high display two fingers and big bald man gives dispensing of short beer more. I take all and large bubble forms and with concentration I exude it through nostrils quietly and gain Elena’s approval and laughter. I say my thanks about the kindlies, about de la Torre and the Sergeant but it is Elena who helps with the large manymuchness.

  “Forget it,” she say.

  “Is figure of speech? Is command?”

  She say low-intensity to shampoo on short beer, “I don’t know, Nemo. No, I guess I wouldn’t want you to forget me.” She look up at me and I know she will say again, “You’ll never forget your promise, Nemo?” and she say it. And I say, “I not go away before I say, Elena, ‘I going away.’ ”

  She say, “What’s the matter, Nemo? What is it?”

  I say, “You think I go away, so I think about I go away too. I like you think about I here. And that not all of it.”

  “I’m sorry. It’s just that I—well, it’s important to me, that’s all. I couldn’t bear it if you just disappeared some day.… What else, Nemo?”

  I say, “Two more short beer.”

  We drink the new short beer with no talk and with thinks. Then she say she go powder she nose. She nose have powder but she also have behavior so I no say why. When she go in door-place at back angle, I stand and walk.

  I walk to high long table where stand the smelly man Purky, I push on him, he turn around.

  He say, “Well look what crawled up! What you want, piggy?”

  I say, “Where you block?”

  He say, “Where’s what?” He speak down to me from very tall, but he speak more noise than optimum.

  I say, “You block. Block. You know, knock off block. Where you block? I knock off.”

  Big man who bring short beer, he roar. Purky, he roar. Mens jump back, looking, looking. Purky lift high big bottle, approach it at me swiftly. I move very close swiftlier, impact the neck of Purky by shoulder, squeeze flesh of Purky in and down behind pelvis, sink right thumb in left abdomen of Purky—one-two-three and go away again. Purky still swing down bottle but I not there for desired encounter now. Bottle go down to floor, Purky go down to floor, I walk back to chair, Purky lie twitching, men look at he, men look at me, Purky say “Uh-uh-uh.” I sit down.

  Elena come out of door running, say “What happened? Nemo …” and she look at Purky and all men looking.

  I say, “Sorry. Sorry.”

  “Did you do that, Nemo?”

  I make the head-nod, yes.

  “Well what are you sorry about?” she say, all pretty with surprise and fierce.

  I say, “I think you happy if I knock block off, but not know block. Where is block? I knock off now.”

  “No you don’t!” she say. “You come right along out of here! Nemo, you’re dynamite!”

  I puzzle. “Is good?”

  “Just now, is good.”

  We go out and big man call, “Hey, how about one on the house, Bomber?”

  I puzzle again. EIena say, “He means he wants to give you a drink.”

  “Short beer?”<
br />
  Big man put out short beer, I drink all. Purky sit up on floor. I feel big bubble come; I make it roar. I look at Purky. Purky not talk. Elena pull me, we go.

  We walk by lakeshore long time. People foot-slide slowly to pulse from mens with air-vibrators, air-column wood, air-column metal, vibrating strings single and sets. “Dancing,” Elena say and I say “Nice. Is goodly nice.” We have a happy, watching. Pulse fast, pulse slow, mens cry with pulse and vibrations, womens, two at once, cry together. “Singing,” Elena say, and the lights move on the dancing, red and yellow-red and big and little blue; clouds shift and change, pulse shift and change, stars come, stars go and the wind, warm. Elena say, “Nemo, honey, do you know what love is?”

  I say no.

  She look the lake, she look the lights, she wave the arm of her to show all, with the wind and stars; she make her voice like whisper and like singing too and she say, “It’s something like this, Nemo. I hope you find out some day.”

  I say yes, and I have sleepy too. So she take me back to the hospital.

  It is the day and de la Torre is tired with me. He fall into chair, wipe the face of he with a small white weaving.

  He say, “Por Dios, Nemo, I don’t figure you at all. Can I be frank with you?”

  I say, “Yes,” but I know all he be is de la Torre.

  He say, “I don’t think you’re trying. But you must be trying; you couldn’t get along so fast without trying. You don’t seem to be interested; I have to tell you some things fifty times before you finally get them. Yet you ask questions as if you were interested. What are you? What do you want?”